A Little Fall of Rain
by Adypose
Summary: Based on the musical Les Misérables, with Sherlock as Marius and John as Eponine. When convicted murderer Val Johnson escapes prison and the daughter of a notorious European businessman goes missing, Sherlock and John travel abroad to investigate. Eventual Johnlock. Set sometime pre-Reichenbach .
1. Prologue

**Summary: Based on the musical **_**Les Mis**__**é**__**rables**_**, with Sherlock as Marius and John as Eponine. When convicted murderer Val Johnson escapes prison and the daughter of a notorious European businessman goes missing, Sherlock and John travel abroad to investigate. Eventual Johnlock. (Set sometime pre-Reichenbach)**

**Author's Note: Please visit Pinterest dot com /adypose/ for some extras for this story (and all others I have published here). I also highly recommend watching the 25****th**** anniversary concert of Les Mis****é****rables, which can be found on youtube. You don't have to watch it to get this story, it is just a really great musical. :D**

* * *

"And now I know how freedom feels,

A jailer always at your heels,

It is the law!"

("Prologue," _Les Mis__é__rables_).

* * *

"I'm not interested," Sherlock snapped, hardly sparing Lestrade a look. "I'm not a bloody bounty hunter."

"Hear me out," Lestrade responded with a rather resigned sigh. "I think you'll find it interesting."

"I doubt that," Sherlock replied lazily, sitting in his chair. "You know who committed the murders already. There is nothing interesting in the crimes. All you need to do is find the guy."

"Yes, but you haven't heard the details yet," Sherlock began to protest, but Lestrade continued quickly. "The details of his escape from a high security prison, I mean."

Sherlock was bored out of his mind. He hadn't had a case in weeks and it was making him even more difficult to deal with than usual. John, who had been sitting in the corner of the flat listening, saw this as an opportunity to get Sherlock back to his normal, somewhat more tolerable, state and spoke before Sherlock had a chance to, once again, refuse the case.

"Sherlock, you've got nothing on. You might as well hear him out," he said, giving his friend a look that clearly meant 'that's an order.'

Sherlock sighed. He was quite certain whatever Lestrade had to say was going to be dull and mind numbing, but he respected John more than anyone guessed—plus, he did have a point—so Sherlock agreed to listen.

What Lestrade explained over the next few minutes proved Sherlock entirely wrong.

* * *

John felt his stomach clench as Letrade described the gory details of the murders committed by Val almost thirty years ago. The murders were apparently motivated by racial and sexual preference, as each victim was in either an interracial relationship or a same-sex/transgendered relationship. The murders were gruesome, but were almost overshadowed by the obvious signs of torture and abuse prior to death. It had caused quite the international outrage when (a few, very select and tame) details were released.

Discovering who the murderer was and capturing him had proven quite simple, but before Lestrade could relate those details, Sherlock let out a loud, impatient grunt and shot Lestrade a look that clearly said, _if you don't tell me something interesting soon, so help me I will throw you out the window!_

Clearing his throat, Lestrade continued, "his escape from prison was what I thought you might find interesting. He was being held in a high security prison in France, where three of the murders were committed, waiting to be deported to America, where he faced the death sentence, when one night he simply disappeared. No one knows how he did it. He was monitored at all times, under video surveillance, and wearing a locator, but no one has any idea where he went or why. This was twenty years ago."

Sherlock was beginning to look more alert, "so why bring it up now?"

"Well," Lestrade continued, happy to have gained Sherlock's interest, that isn't the end of the story. Five years later, a man was arrested, believed to be Val. However, in a rather dramatic gesture, Val showed up at the court on the day of the trial, giving himself up as the real convict. He was re-arrested and placed under, if possible, an even more secure watch. He escaped in less than three days."

"Hmm," Sherlock definitely looked interested now, "but that was still about fifteen years ago. I reiterate, why bring it up now?"

"Well," Lestrade continued, downright smug now, "about five years after his second escape, the daughter of his former boss, Javert, disappeared. She wad ten years old. Javert is a prominent European businessman and spent a fair amount of his resources trying to find her, but could never find so much as one clue. Then, a couple of months ago the murders began again. Javert has heard of you, due to your recent fame, and wants to employ you to find his daughter and bring Val to justice."

"What makes you think these new murders are connected?" Sherlock asked, ignoring Lestrade's smug smile.

"Val's... signature is quite clear. He likes to carve words into his victim's bodies."

* * *

"So," John glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye after Lestrade had given the last remaining details, including the case file (which was quite thick) and left, "I guess we are bounty hunters after all?" he asked, grinning widely.

Sherlock looked annoyed for a second but, upon seeing John's grin, grinned back, laughing softly.

"I guess so."


	2. Do You Hear the People Sing?

"Do you hear the people sing?

Singing the song of angry men.

It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again.

When the beating of your heart

Echoes the beating of the drum

There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes"

("Do You Hear the People Sing," _Les Mis__é__rables_).

* * *

Three days after Lestrade's visit, Sherlock and John were on their way to Germany, Dresden to be specific. Sherlock had spent the majority of these days on his computer and texting, though John was vague on the specifics of his research. The decision to go to Germany came after Sherlock had announced he was going for a walk and returned with a messily scribbled note. When John asked why they were headed to Eastern Germany, Sherlock's replies were vague.

"The area has promise," he would say, "and an interesting history. Plus, I have a source who has heard some rumors."

John began to wonder just how far Sherlock's homeless network extended.

* * *

When they arrived in Germany, John's suspicions about Sherlock's homeless network were confirmed as Sherlock approached a rather raggedy looking youth outside the airport, to whom he spoke for a few minutes (in German, John noted) before hailing a cab.

They were lodging, John soon learned, in a small apartment near Dresden's Technische Universität, which was close to a tram and a straight shot to the city centre. John was impressed with the lodgings and suspected Mycroft's influence in their being able to afford them. Mycroft, it had turned out, had been pleased his brother had taken the case, as the recent murders had caused an international scandal he wanted to avoid (one of the recent murders and two of he previous had been committed in England, in addition to the fact that the businessman's daughter had been in England when she disappeared).

After Sherlock's idea of settling in (throwing their luggage inside the door and looking around for a few moments), he announced they were headed to the Frauenkirche, which was in the city centre.

"Why," John asked, confused. "Bit of sight seeing?"

Sherlock grinned, "Sort of." They began to make their way to the train and, as they boarded, Sherlock explained the church's history.

"In World War II, Dresden, as I'm sure you already know, was targeted by British and American troops in a series of bombings from 13 February to 15 February 1945, resulting in the deaths of over 25,000 people. The Frauenkirche, which was already a symbolic site in the city, had become a refuse from some 300 people, but soon became unsafe and, after a successful evacuation, succumbed to the heat generated by some 650,000 incendiary bombs, the dome collapsing on the morning of 15 February," Sherlock explained.

John had a far away look. Having been in the British Army, this information gave him rather conflicting emotions, which Sherlock didn't fail to notice.

"Under communist rule the church remained a pile of rubble for some 45 years, though citizens immediately began cataloguing the remnants for future reconstruction. The ruins later became site of peace protests against the East German regime. The building's eventual reconstruction was the result of efforts made by passionate Dresden citizens. The site, therefore, has become a symbol of resistance against corruption for the city," Sherlock finished.

"That's quite interesting Sherlock, really, but what does it have to do with this case?" John asked, looking lost.

"Ah, this is our stop," Sherlock said, avoiding the question and jumping out of the tram.

Sighing, John followed Sherlock to the front of the impressive structure whose history he had just learned. It was a massive, looming building, beautiful in a haunting way. The bricks that survived the blasts of WWII loomed like ghosts among the newer bricks, a constant reminder of the violence it had endured. John wasn't surprised the building held such importance to the citizens of this tragic city. He had become rather enthralled by the building, which meant it took him a moment to realize Sherlock was no longer beside him.

"Sherlock?" he called when he looked over to see only empty space and, confused, began making his way around the building in search before seeing him a few yards away, heading toward an ally. John sighed and ran to catch up.

"Where are you going," he huffed as he caught up.

Sherlock looked up, obviously unaware John hadn't been following (no surprise there).

"I thought we'd get some coffee," he murmured, returning his focus to the ground in front of him, then the walls of the ally they had just entered. He continued on at a slow pace, focused intently on his surroundings, evidently following some path completely invisible to John, who knew better than to ask questions when Sherlock was this focused. After a number of intricate turns in the labyrinthine city centre, Sherlock stopped at a rundown building with a closed shop, looking triumphant.

"Ah, here we are," he said, looking at John.

"Um, I think I'd rather not get coffee here, Sherlock," John replied, looking skeptically at the building in front of them. "Closed shops usually don't have great coffee."

Sherlock looked confused before realizing to what John was referring, "no, not there, John," he said, exasperated, "look down."

John did and noticed another ragged door, slightly lower than the street, though not quite basement level, under the abandoned shop. There was a faded sign on it that said, simply, "Kaffee". It would have been impossible to find unless you already knew it was there, or unless you were Sherlock Holmes, of course. It looked just as run down as the shop above it.

"Ah, yes," he said, looking dubious, "that looks much better."

Sherlock laughed softly and began down the stairs.

* * *

When they stepped inside, Sherlock and John found a musky room, filled with tables, most of which were occupied by groups of serious looking college age men and women, and all of which were overrun with dirty mugs and papers. About half of the students looked up sternly at their entrance, staring at them suspiciously as a silence spread across the room.

One young man stood and walked to the middle of the room.

"Wer bist du?" he asked. John's German was out of practice, at best, but he noted the use of the informal 'you', though Sherlock and he were clearly older than almost all of these students.

"Wir kommen aus England," Sherlock replied, looking straight into the young man's intense gaze. "Wir kamen zu singen."

John quickly attempted a translation in his head, which resulted in, 'We come from England. We come to…sing?'. Okay, he was officially confused. Perhaps his German was worse than he thought. Nonetheless, the young man's face immediately relaxed and the rest of the students returned to their conversations.

Sherlock leaned closer to John smiling widely, and putting his mouth close to his ear, whispered, "this is going to be a fun case indeed!"


	3. Red and Black

"Red, the blood of angry men.

Black, the dark of ages past.

Red, the sun about to dawn.

Black, the night that ends at last!"

("Red and Black," _Les Mis__é__rables_).

* * *

Sherlock took a step further into the crowded, musty, dim coffee house (basement) to which Sherlock had lead them, and John followed trying not to trip over the papers that littered the floor (and literally every other surface).

"Join us!" the young man who had just confronted them said, his German accent strong, but his English quite good. He pointed Sherlock and John to a pair of empty chairs at a nearby table, introducing himself as Enjolras.

"French, interesting…" Sherlock murmured in response, taking the offered seat, but already looking distracted.

"Ah ha, I can see you are a clever man," the German youth said, smiling. "It isn't my real name. I chose it because of the French Revolution. I thought it was fitting, considering what we're doing here."

"Ah, yes," Sherlock replied, looking amused. "You are basing your actions on the French Revolution then?"

"In part, though, of course, we intend to do everything quite peacefully. These are different times. The time for guns is past. Now is the time for protest, for publicity, for outrage that spreads like fire!" Enjolras's eye had lit up and he stood, banging his fist on the table. "But how did you discover our location and password?" he asked after a slight pause, sitting again.

"I learned of it from Gavin," Sherlock replied, offhanded.

"Ah, yes. Of course. Quite a prodigy, that boy," Enjolras said.

John was still confused (again, no surprise there).

"I'm sorry," he said after a pause, "but I'm afraid I'm a bit lost. What, exactly, are you protesting here?"

Enjolras looked, if possible, more excited at the prospect of explaining his project.

"The fat cats at the top, who couldn't care less about the beggars at their feet; the right-wing extremists who work tirelessly to keep it that way; that's what we're protesting!" he said, looking intently at John. "It's always been bad, but since the recent influx of foreign fat cat businesses it has gotten so much worse. These swine have their fingers in the law here and they work hard to make sure anyone not in line with their 'morals' has a difficult time."

Another student sitting at the table broke in, "five arrests this week alone, just for having skin the wrong color."

"Or a lover whose the wrong gender," Enjolras finished.

John was astonished, "Can they do that?"

"Of course they can. They've got the money and nobody dares stand up to them. Until now, of course. We'll make them face their deeds. We'll show the world exactly what they're doing here!" Enjolras had risen to his feet again, close to shouting. A cheer erupted at these words, peppered with German phrases like 'Das stimmt!' and 'Jawhol!'

"Who is that woman?" Sherlock asked once the roar had died down, pointing at a young woman sitting at a table across the room. John had noticed her staring at Sherlock earlier, but was astonished that Sherlock had noticed. He was hardly one to notice the interest of a young woman. Was this what had been distracting him?

"Ah, that's Cosette," Enjolras answered, a sly smile creasing his features. "Quite the beauty, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is quite attractive," Sherlock said, to John's astonishment, rising and moving toward her table, leaving John to listen to more of Enjolras's speeches about 'fat cats' and capitalism.

* * *

John watched in amazement as Sherlock conversed with the young woman named Cosette for the next three hours, ignoring Enjolras, who had soon become distracted talking to his friends in German anyway. John had never seen Sherlock act this way. He was laughing, leaning in close, giving Cosette his full attention, buying her drinks (John had been unsurprised to learn that the 'coffee house' served alcohol), and giving her an almost constant smile.

John tried to ignore the feeling that had risen in his chest. What did it matter if Sherlock had become interested in some young woman he barely knew? Still, weren't they supposed to be on a case? What were they even doing here? If he started receiving angry texts from Mycroft again because of Sherlock's _distraction_, John was fairly certain he would strangle his friend.

When Sherlock finally returned to the table at which John was still sitting, he had what John could only describe as a _goofy_ grin on his face.

"Well, I think I've got what I need John," he said. "Let's get back to the flat.

"What were you doing over there?" John asked, keeping his voice as flat as he could.

"Oh, just talking," Sherlock was already making his way toward the door. Sighing, John stood, said goodbyes to their new acquaintances for himself and Sherlock, and followed.


	4. Order of the Stars

"Stars, in your multitude,

Scarce to be counted,

Filling the darkness

With order and light.

…

And if you fall as Lucifer fell,

You fall in flames."

("Order of the Stars," _Les Mis__é__rables_).

* * *

Sherlock acted distant the entire way back to the flat, which would not have been odd, as he was usually like this when he was on a case, except for the fact that he hadn't seemed to be interested in the case at all that day.

The next morning, Sherlock handed John a note before he even had the chance to say good morning.

"I need you to take this to Cosette," he said, turning back to whatever he was doing on his computer. "You'll probably find her at the coffee house, but you can leave it for her there if she isn't in."

"You want me to what?" John was floored. They were in the middle of a case and Sherlock wanted him to deliver his love letters?

"Problem?" Sherlock glanced up at him.

John paused, tempted to shout, infuriated by his friend's utter ignorance. He thought better of it.

"Nope," he said, snatching the note from Sherlock's hand and heading to the door. "No problem at all."

* * *

John walked toward the train fuming, the light rain soaking his hair not helping his mood at all. By the time he reached the city centre, the rain had worsened and he was absolutely soaked when he reached the coffee house.

"Ah, hello again, my English friend. What brings you here?" Enjolras greeting him. John wondered if he lived in the decrepit place.

"Uh, I have a note for Cosette from Sherlock," John said, holding out the note.

"Yes, yes. I though he was interested in her. It was obvious from the way they spoke last night. Cosette causes that reaction in many men, but I've never seen her interested in the same way. Your friend is lucky," Enjolras took the note, smiling.

"Yeah, lucky," John mumbled, turning away.

"Wait, we've gotten some news I thought you and your friend might be interested in," Enjolras said before John had a chance to retreat to the door.

"Oh?" John asked, turning back.

"Yeah, one of the foreign fat cats—the worst one, in fact, the one that started this mess—has just arrived back in town. We've decided his presence is the perfect sign to begin our protests!" Enjolras said, excited.

"Who is it?" John asked.

"Javert," Enjolras replied.

* * *

John arrived back at the flat an hour later, dripping profusely on the floor and cursing the rain loudly. He was obviously irritated.

"Next time you have a little love note, you can bloody well deliver it yourself," he snapped at Sherlock, who was sitting comfortably dry, reading a book.

Sherlock looked over his book at his friend and mumbled an affirmation as John moved into the flat and began drying himself with a towel from the bathroom.

"Oh, and I've got some news, if you're still interested in the case at all," he said, still mopping himself with the towel.

"Oh?" Sherlock responded, putting down the book.

"Javert's in town," he answered, "and apparently your new friends are not exactly pleased with his presence."

Sherlock smiled, "well then, we'll have to go an have a word with him."

* * *

Javert's home was lavish, to say the least. John had known him to be a quite successful businessman, but the man obviously like to demonstrate his wealth. Sherlock seemed, as usual, unimpressed.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, I'm glad you've come. I was, of course, about to call myself when I heard you were in town. I'm glad you've taken the case. I yearn to see the end of this affair," Javert greeted them after a servant had shown them to an enormous sitting room and seated them in elegant armchairs.

"Yes, I'm sure you are," Sherlock replied. "We intend to bring the business to a close quite soon."

"I'm glad. I simply abhor the idea of this _convict_ out there in the darkness. God as my witness, I never shall yield until he has received his just reward," Javert's voice was stern.

"Are you a religious man, then?" Sherlock asked, looking intently at their host.

"Of course I am," Javert seemed taken aback at the question, as though there were no other possible answer. "Mine is the way of the lord and those who follow the path of the righteous shall have their reward!"

"I see," Sherlock looked quite interested now. "And is Val a man of God as well?"

"I had thought so, but was obviously wrong!" Javert's eyes had darkened as he rose and moved toward the window, though which the night sky was visible. "Stars fill the night sky with order and light. They are the sentinels, silent and sure, keeping watch in the night. They know their place in the sky. The hold their course and their aim, and each in their season returns and returns, always the same. If only all men were like stars."

"But Val has fallen as Lucifer fell and as a star falls—in flame—and I shall see that he is put back in his proper place. So it must be, for so it is written on the doorway to paradise, that those who falter and those who fall must pay the price!" Javert had turned to face them once again, his expression contorted with fury. He recovered himself shortly though, clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry for my outburst. You must understand my feelings. He did, after all, take my only daughter from me," he said, returning to his chair.

"Yes, of course. I would be surprised if you acted otherwise, considering," Sherlock replied, a slight smile crossing his face. "I'm afraid we must be going though. I do hope to speak to you again soon."

"Yes of course," Javert said, rising to shake the two men's hands as they moved to leave.

Outside, John looked at his friend, "well, that was interesting."

"Yes, it really was," Sherlock responded, looking distant. "Quite interesting indeed."


End file.
